


Draco Malfoy and the Birthday Breakfast Blunder

by notalone91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Muggle Artifacts and Draco are a Dangerous Mix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:31:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3795034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has a special surprise for his boyfriend, but will everything go as he has it planned or will it all go awry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draco Malfoy and the Birthday Breakfast Blunder

Harry Potter awoke early one morning to a loud crack in the kitchen downstairs. He smiled softly to himself and rolled over onto his back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Draco, is that you?” he yelled.

The blond jumped at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Shit,” he muttered before calling back up. “Yes. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I’m just…” he devised a quick fib, “getting in the shower.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, take your time.”

Reaching to the bedside table and putting on his glasses, he managed to drag his still half-asleep body out of his warm bed and shivered as soon as his feet hit the cold hard wood floor. He grabbed his old Gryffindor towel out of the closet and hung it around his neck. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Draco whirled around, dispensing various food articles and parcels from the black satchel he had draped over his arm. “Not a problem. I’ll be waiting.” After he had emptied the remainder of the contents, he surveyed them with mild exhaustion at the prospect of what he was about to do.

His first task at hand was a frittata. Unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket, he read the directions in his mother’s elegant script. After pre-heating the oven, he took down a small cast iron skillet from the hanging rack and was on his way. He began chopping up the mound of ham, peppers, onions, potatoes and cheese into equal sized bits. Smiling proudly at his handiwork, he moved onto the eggs. He reached a bowl out of the cabinet, and cracked half a dozen eggs into it and added a bit of milk. He beat them with a fork and then folded the other ingredients into the pale yellow mixture and proceeded to dump them into the pan. He slid the pan into the oven and said quietly, to himself, “Not bad, Draco. Just keep calm and everything will go as planned.” He drew his wand from the breast pocket of his grey-blue blazer and cast aguamenti, washing the bowl out without alerting Harry to his doings.

Next, he put the kettle on to boil. He chuckled at his ongoing triumph in the kitchen. He had never tried before, but he couldn’t see the issue that people had with cooking.

He walked over to the small cake on the counter and rolled the small tube of icing next to it in his hands. This was going to be difficult, but he knew he could manage. Even as a child, his writing had been impeccable. He managed to get most of it on in neat, even letters but as a cramp began in his right hand, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to finish without some sort of glitch. He decided on a slight change from “Harry” to “love” and continued on. When he had finished, he smiled down at the gleaming gold frosting.

He was starting to smell the breakfast, so he decided that it was time to put the toast in. His steel blue eyes scoured the kitchen for something that looked like it would house the capability to toast bread. Finally, his gaze fell upon a silver machine with 4 slots. Perfect. He pressed the two levers until they clicked into place, turned around to retrieve the bread and jumped as, moments later, he heard a loud snap, almost akin to an apparition.

Brandishing his wand, he investigated. He had expressly told Harry’s friends not to come by until later, so it shouldn’t have been them. Who could it possibly be? He stuck his head around the corner and gazed into the next room and then climbed upstairs. There was one there. He walked back into the kitchen and saw that the toast making machine had rejected his pressure. He cursed muggle technology and fiddled with the two dials. Nothing disobeyed a Malfoy, especially not some confounded machine. Confounded… that was it. Perhaps it just needed a bit of persuasion. “Imperio.” He then put the bread into the four slots, and ordered it to make the bread into a golden toast. After staring intently at his reflection in the chrome, he slammed the two levers down. Something had to go wrong eventually. He folded his arms and leaned against the counter.

The four pieces of what were supposed to be toast ejected. Instead of the flaxen color he had intended, they had obtained more of an appearance of charcoal. Draco tossed the offending items aside. “I’ll teach you to burn my toast,” he growled, ego as injured as the toast. He disconnected the cord and placed the object in the middle of the floor. “Depulso!” The gleaming monstrosity slammed into a shelf, rattling soup cans in its wake. He wasn’t yet satisfied. “Confringo,” he near-yelled. The toaster exploded, sending bits of metal scattering about. Here he was, Draco Malfoy, feeling defeated by an inanimate object of muggle manufacture. The mere thought of it was enough to send him retreating.

A strand of hair fell into his eyes. With a huff, he smoothed it back into place. He slammed the heel of his other hand down onto the spot of, what he had expected to be, counter that wound up being the edge of the cake. “Shit,” he hissed, scraping the icing and bits of cake into the sink. He leaned down on the edge, thankful for the coolness of the steel sink on his face, which was now blushing fiercely, creating a strong contrast with his cool blue eyes and icy blond hair.

Some minutes had passed and now, a grey haze was overtaking the kitchen. “What the hell?” Draco opened the oven and was near engulfed by smoke. Without thinking, he reached in and attempted to pull the dish out. It slammed out onto the door as he let escape a shout of pain. He reached his hand into the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. He bit softly into his lip.

Upstairs, Harry was shutting off the faucet and wrapping his towel around his waist when he heard a large clatter from downstairs. “Dray?” he called. “Draco, are you alright?” When no response was heard, he ventured into the kitchen. He saw his boyfriend, doubled over, pressing an icepack to his hand between his knees with the entire scene shrouded in a thick smog. Bending down to get a better view, he asked “Draco, what happened,” voice brimming with concern for both his seemingly injured partner and the disarray of his kitchen. “Talk to me, love. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what happened.”

Draco let out a strangled cry. “I wanted to…” he stopped, remembering why he had done all of this in the first place. Freeing his uninjured hand, he cupped Harry’s jaw, bringing him in close. “Happy birthday, darling.” He kissed the dripping wet figure and then tried to gauge how angry he was.

“You did all of this for me?” Harry was flattered. He had forgotten that it was his own birthday. He had always hated it to begin with, but usually his friends made such a big deal he was forced to go along. This year, though, looked like he was really going to enjoy it. “Thank you, Draco.”

The taller boy sank further. “For what? All I did was muck everything up.”

Harry sighed. “Accio dittany.” As he squeezed a few drops onto his boyfriend’s singed hand, he searched Draco. Was he kidding? This was the most effort anyone had ever put forth for him. “For everything.” He moved to the window and jerked it open, trying to air out the smoke.

Draco had one last thing planned for this morning and, if he did say so himself, it was the pièce de résistance. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Mustering up all the bravado he could, given the circumstance, he tossed the box back and forth in his hands and playfully answered, “Well, if that’s the case, would you thank me if I asked you to marry me?”

By the time he question had been processed and Harry could turn around, Draco was on his knee, proffering a gold, double banded ring with two stones, a red and a green. “I know that we’d discussed it before, and we’d never really come to a conclusion, but Harry, I want to marry you. I want to live with you. I want to raise children together. I want us to be that old couple that walks past the café where we have lunch.” His voice was weakening, his hands were shaking and tears began to fall. “You are the love of my life and I… I don’t deserve you, but sometimes that’s the beauty of it. For years, you were known as ‘the chosen one’ but, now, if you’ll marry me, I think the title should be passed on to me.”

A film of tears lined the birthday boy’s eyes. “Yes,” he slid to his knees, directly in front of his lover. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Always, yes.”

His hands trembling, Draco slid the band out and onto Harry’s finger and kissed his hand, his arm, his chest, his cheek until finally Harry adjusted his aim for his mouth. Smiling through the kiss, Harry decided that this was absolutely his best birthday and definitely his favorite breakfast.


End file.
